


Perfect Doesn't Last

by Kamaro0917



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/F, Fleurmione Week 2020, Fleurmione is endgame, Roommates, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamaro0917/pseuds/Kamaro0917
Summary: And then they were roommates.One shot for day 2 of #FleurmioneWeek2020
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 31
Kudos: 196
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2020





	Perfect Doesn't Last

“Hermione, do you want Chinese or Italian takeaway tonight?” Fleur called down the hallway toward her roommate’s bedroom. 

“Uh, surprise me, you know what I like!” came the muffled reply through the closed door.

Fleur just shook her head, not at all surprised by the response. As opinionated as the Prophet-proclaimed ‘Golden Girl’ could be, she found that Hermione Granger was surprisingly indecisive about certain things. Choosing where to eat was the top of that list, followed closely by what to wear. The brunette had an absurdly large selection of knitted jumpers; seemingly one for every occasion but never the right one to suit her current needs. 

How one person could own so many jumpers (or articles of clothing in general) was beyond her. And that was saying something coming from Fleur Delacour, who had little room to judge when it came to comparing closets. As heir apparent of the French Veela clan, Beauxbatons graduate, Triwizard Champion, war-hero, and renowned Cursebreaker, she worked hard and always looked good doing so. It was expected of her. Her maman (or worse, grand-mere) would give her an earful if she ever found out that Fleur’s actions or appearance reflected poorly on the clan or her Veela heritage. As such, her own closet was stocked floor to ceiling with designer dresses, skirts, robes, and shirts. She was the epitome of fashion. Even now she was wearing a Chanel pencil skirt and heels for a quiet Friday night in. 

“Alright, I’ll call something in.” 

She moved across the kitchen and pulled the paper menu for  _ Tomaso’s Ristorante _ off the refrigerator, then took a seat at the island bar to decide what she wanted. She already knew her roommate’s order by heart. A creature of habit, Hermione might not know from  _ where _ she wanted to eat but she definitely knew  _ what _ she wanted; she had a very specific order for each restaurant. 

When her own selection was made, she pulled out her mobile to call in the order. After living with Hermione for nearly three years, she had become well-acquainted with certain aspects of muggle culture, which included the use of mobile phones - a modern day necessity, Hermione had explained. It made sense. Without magic, muggles had to find other solutions to cope and Fleur had to admit, many of their innovations were nothing short of genius. Though she still did not understand the significance of Vines, memes, or YouTube. People posting recordings of themselves doing or saying stupid things just didn’t appeal to her, and it annoyed her that such a powerful tool was being used for such trivial matters. Still, texting and calling was much more convenient (and entertaining) than the Floo. Not to mention it was easier on her knees and back than sticking her head in a fireplace. The downside of using muggle technology was that very few in the wizarding community carried such devices. She herself had only nine contacts. Still, she liked it and liberally used the funny smiley faces to accentuate her points when texting with Hermione and Gabrielle. 

Task complete, Fleur decided to celebrate another successful muggle interaction by summoning a bottle of wine from the cabinet pouring herself a healthy glass. She carefully swirled the red liquid a few times, breathing deeply and savoring the rich bouquet, before finally taking a sip. In a very uncharacteristic display of pleasure, she sighed loudly in appreciation as the warm wine trickled down her throat. Nothing compared to her family’s private reserves. Her father, a skilled herbologist and renowned enologist, was constantly cultivating new strains of grapes - truly one of a kind - making Delacour wines as unique as they were sought after. Most of their product was distributed in small batches on the open market, but the best was saved for their nearest and dearest. This one was a full-bodied blend, perfectly balanced, that had a bold, smoky finish that lingered on the palate long after consumption. It was like drinking a work of art.

She was pulled from her wine-induced reverie by the sound of footsteps approaching. She turned in her seat to greet her friend and roommate, but was not at all prepared for what she saw. She was taken so off-guard that she almost spat out her current sip of rich wine. Hermione was not wearing one of her trademarked jumpers as she had expected. Crystal blues raked up and down her roommate’s body, taking in her appearance. 

Hermione was sporting sinfully tight jeans, a lacy white peasant blouse under a black leather jacket, and modest heels. Her normally unruly brown curls were tamed down into gentle waves that framed her face wonderfully. She wore a hint of light make up, just enough to bring out the subtle gold flecks in her soft brown eyes. She looked…  _ hot _ .

Fleur quickly turned her attention back to her glass in an attempt to hide her blatant ogling. Based on the light blush she saw spreading across the brunette’s cheeks, her staring hadn’t gone unnoticed. In typical Delacour fashion, she played off her awkwardness with light humor and a smattering of sarcastic sass. “What’s the occasion? Hot Friday night date?” 

“Oh, I just felt like getting dressed up a little.” Hermione hedged awkwardly, shifting her weight from side to side as she approached the kitchen. 

“Ah, well… What is the English phrase? ‘You clean up all right.’” She shrugged casually, not commenting on the fact that she knew the ex-Gryffindor was hiding something. She knew Hermione’s mannerisms well enough by now that not much slipped by her notice. She also knew that it wouldn’t do to push her friend to talk if she didn’t want to share.

Hermione blushed a little more and shyly averted her eyes. 

_ ‘Don’t hide, you’re too beautiful to hide’ _ Fleur’s Veela purred in the back of her mind.

_ ‘Shut up, you menace. You’re not helping!’  _ Fleur shoved the Veela down and cleared her throat to cover her internal argument. “I ordered from Tomaso’s, I hope that’s okay. It should be delivered in 20 minutes. Would you care for a glass while we wait?” 

“That sounds lovely.” Hermione nodded her approval as she took a seat on the stool next to her. “Yes, that would be nice, please.”

Fleur waved her wand, summoning a second wine glass from the cabinet and poured Hermione a generous portion. “It’s my family’s special reserve. Very strong, drink it slowly.” She warned.

“Good to know,” Hermione grinned and took a sip after she smelled the fragrant liquid, sighing as the wine hit her tongue. 

Fleur shivered involuntarily at the sound. Goddess, how she wanted to be that glass, that wine; to have Hermione appreciate her like that. Thankfully, this time Fleur’s embarrassment went unnoticed, as Hermione’s eyes were closed as she enjoyed the first sip of her drink. 

“I meant what I said. You do look nice.” Fleur’s words were out before she realized she had even opened her mouth. When she was met with a raised eyebrow, she quickly backpedaled into safe territory, once again enlisting jokes to smooth things over. “It is good to see you in something other than a lumpy jumper.”

“Oh come off it, you git! You love my jumpers and you know it.” Hermione retorted with a playful smirk. “And for the record, they are not ‘lumpy’ as you so rudely claim.”

Fleur smiled broadly, her eyes twinkled brightly, glad the atmosphere had shifted back to more comfortable and familiar territory. She loved how  _ easy _ it was to be around Hermione. Their conversation generally flowed easily and she appreciated their friendly banter. 

It had been a pleasant surprise to discover how well they worked as roommates. And to think she had almost turned down Hermione’s request to move in while she was pursuing her Mastery course. 

After living together for so long the two had become much more friendly around one another, even lightly flirting or exchanging small touches in passing. Most Friday nights were spent cuddling on the couch to watch a movie and stuffing themselves with buttered popcorn. Despite popular belief, Fleur was not particularly social and preferred to stay in whenever possible, venturing out only when necessary. Even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Fleur knew that she had fallen for her friend. In her mind they should be a couple, it just made sense to her. They were  _ perfect _ together. There was just one small problem… 

“But yes, actually, I do have a date. Ron is working late but I agreed to meet him for drinks after dinner. Said he had something important to talk about.”

There it was, that harsh reminder that Hermione wasn’t hers to love. That she was living in a fairy tale, on borrowed time. Their little world was not meant to last. She knew this day would come, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“Oh?” Fleur feigned interest for the sake of her friend but was quietly simmering at the thought of not having their Friday night tradition of a quiet night in with dinner and a movie, cuddling on the couch. 

“I think he might, you know, finally pop the question. He’s been acting peculiarly and Harry keeps giving me knowing looks and subtly trying to look at my hand.”

The wine instantly turned to acid in her mouth and churned unpleasantly in her gut and Fleur fought the strong urge to vomit. Her Veela thrashed about in the back of her mind at the mere mention of Ron Weasley, remembering the purple-faced boy that shamelessly eyed her up and down like a piece of meat. She drew upon years of practice and carefully schooled her expression to a pleasant neutral that gave nothing away. Just beneath the surface she was anything but; her mind was racing and her Veela threatened to burst to the surface.

Why Hermione was still seeing Ron was beyond her. Now the thought of them getting married? How could she settle so easily? Hermione had gone straight from surviving the War into his arms. Of course the media had eaten that up, touting them as the ‘perfect couple’ with a ‘love that conquers all’ or some other rubbish. She selfishly hoped that the relationship wouldn’t last, that Hermione would see reason and broaden her horizons, so to speak. While she didn’t like the idea of Hermione dating other people, she did think that it was silly to marry your school girl crush without having anything else to compare it to. 

_ ‘Give someone else a chance. Give  _ **_me_ ** _ a chance,’ _ Fleur’s Veela was screaming and for once she agreed with her other half, but she bit her tongue. 

Ron Weasley did have his merits, she would give him that. He was a skilled strategist and duelist and had earned his reputation amongst the Aurors. He’d make a good husband for someone. Just not for Hermione. 

For years she had observed the unlikely couple. Strictly out of curiosity. At least that was what she told herself to get to sleep at night. They were so different and their personalities seemed to clash in every way. More often than not, Hermione would come home exasperated or in tears. She rarely mentioned him to her - and they talked about anything and everything - almost to the point that she forgot Ron existed and was dating the woman she was pining after. She struggled to keep her jealousy at bay whenever the redhead was brought up. This time was no different. She could pretend to be happy for her friend, even if it felt like a one-two punch to the face, heart and gut. Simultaneously. And repeatedly.

It was ironic really. After years of being pursued by seemingly everyone and their mother, Fleur found herself wanting the one woman who wouldn’t see her for anything more than her best friend. It would be so easy to be with Hermione. They had a lot in common. They were both intelligent and well-educated women; driven, hard-working and goal-oriented; firmly passionate about the causes that interested them. She truly enjoyed the brunette’s company, as Hermione was one of the few not affected by her Veela thrall, so she knew that their interactions were genuine. 

To her, Hermione was perfect. Why wasn’t she enough for Hermione? What was stopping her? Her Veela could sense the attraction and a Veela’s instinct was never wrong. But they were both stubborn, almost to a fault, and neither would budge. Neither would admit their feelings out loud, and Fleur refused to be the reason that Hermione broke off her relationship. The ball was firmly in Hermione’s court, and there it stayed. For years. Each day she hoped that Hermione would finally get her head out of her arse and choose her. Until then she was happy for the time she had and had allowed herself to be lulled into the false sense of security. She fooled herself into believing that what they had was real. 

“You don’t seem happy for me.” Hermione looked rather crestfallen.

“I’m sorry, mon ami,” Fleur quickly leapt into damage control mode. “That is big news, it took me off guard.” She spoke honestly.

Hermione visibly brightened at the perceived approval from her best friend and reached out into the space between them. “Well, I don’t know for certain, it’s all speculation, of course. I suppose it makes sense and the timing works out. I’m almost done with my Mastery program and it’s time I think about what comes next. I’ve already more than overstayed my welcome here. You’ve been so generous to me, I don’t know how to thank you enough for all you’ve given me.” 

“Bah, we’ve been over this before, Hermione.” Fleur waved her hand dismissively, trying to ignore the hand now resting softly on her knee. Normally the touch would have her soaring but now it felt like a nail in the coffin, a reminder that the clock was ticking down. “It is no burden having you here. This flat has more space than I need and I enjoy living with you. You’ll always be welcome here, even if you decide you need to move out someday.” 

_ ‘No, she doesn’t mean that! I want you to stay forever. Please, be with me.’  _ The Veela was screeching.

“You’re too kind to me, Fleur. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Well I do.” Fleur took a deliberate sip of her wine for dramatic effect before continuing, enjoying how Hermione’s eyebrow arched higher with each passing second. “Probably starving from your inability to select a restaurant and wearing lumpy jumpers!” She barely had time to set down her wine before strong fingers started digging mercilessly into her sides.

“You take that back!” Hermione shouted as she tickled Fleur’s sides.

“Non, non, non!” Fleur sputtered between giggles, falling off her stool as she attempted to escape, darting away in a blur of platinum blonde hair. Unfortunately her assailant followed in hot pursuit and tackled her onto the couch, pinning her down and continuing the attack. 

“I yield! A-ha-ha, non, please! Your jumpers are so lovely and fashionable, Mademoiselle Granger. Please!”

“That’s what I thought.” Hermione’s fingers retracted and she sat up, still straddling her waist and looking rather smug with herself.

Fleur gasped in an attempt to collect her breath, face bright red and hair sticking out in all directions. She liked feeling Hermione’s weight on her, pressing her into the couch. She tentatively reached up and brushed a brown curl out of Hermione’s face, her heart racing at their position. There was a flicker in those deep chocolate orbs gazing down at her.

_ Maybe? _ The Veela perked up, hopeful. It pouted in disappointment when the British witch dismounted and settled on the couch next to them.

“Fleur, can I ask you something?” Hermione’s voice was quiet, uncertain.

“Of course, mon ami. I have no secrets from you.” 

_ ‘Liar,’  _ the Veela hissed from her corner.

“Why aren’t you married? You’re young, beautiful and a very talented witch.”

Fleur closed her eyes and looked away briefly. Of all the questions she could have asked, of course Hermione went with that one. “I suppose I just haven’t met the right woman.” 

_ ‘You’re a lying fool and a coward.’ _

_ ‘I can’t tell her, I won’t be the reason she breaks up with him. That is something she needs to decide on her own.’ _ Fleur shot back.

“Well, hypothetically speaking, if you did meet her, how would you know she’s the one for you?”

“Well, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask for dating or marriage advice, but I would know it in my heart. Non, more than that, I would feel it in my soul. She would not complete me, for I am not incomplete, more that she would be my perfect complement. We would bring out the best in each other and work through our worst together. She would challenge me and support me. Make me feel like I can fly while also grounding me. I would love her and accept her exactly as she is, as she would do for me. She would be my lighthouse calling me home every night. I couldn’t imagine a moment without her…” Every word felt like taking a Cruciatus straight to her heart but she kept her tone even, unwavering. Nothing to belie her heartbreak.

_ ‘Can’t you see you make me feel this way? It’s you! It’s always been you!’ _ The Veela pleaded.

“Wow…” Hermione ran a hand through her hair, “And you said that you weren’t the person to ask advice from. I beg to differ, that was rather thorough. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Fleur smiled, “Hermione…”

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her and she sprang up from the couch, grateful for an excuse to drop the conversation. Thankfully the topic never came up again as the duo ate their meal.

Hermione departed shortly after she finished her Chicken Parmesan and wine, leaving Fleur to wallow and drown her sorrows in the remaining wine before passing out in bed.

That damn ring. Fleur wanted to hex it off Hermione’s finger every time she saw the diamond glimmering in the sunlight. Unfortunately that tended to happen a lot when eating lunch outside. A week had passed since Hermione had accepted Ron’s proposal. A week of torture and the best acting Fleur could muster. She started working late and avoiding her roommate. She was barely keeping it together and she knew that she would snap if she spent too much time around Hermione.

“I know we’ve not talked too much about this recently, but you’re my best friend and I was hoping… Well… Would you be my maid of honor?”

Fleur closed her eyes, clenching her jaw tight as Hermione drove a proverbial dagger straight into her heart, twisting it and shattering the organ into a million pieces. “Hermione…” she managed after a long pause, looking away, unable to meet the brunette’s hopeful gaze.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. It’s a big decision and I completely respect it if you need a few days to mull it over.” Hermione offered quickly, waving her hands slightly.

“Thank you, but I don’t need it.” Fleur was trying to pick up the pieces of her heart and put them back together. “I am honored that you would think of me, truly. I don’t think I can do what you ask.”

A tense silence settled between them.

“Why?” The question was barely audible.

Fleur took a deep breath and finally turned her head to face her lunch partner. Brown eyes were watching her intently, the hurt barely veiled, tears threatening to fall. It crushed her. “I want to be happy for you. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve the world. But I can’t. Not this time. It pains me to no end that I am being this selfish, that I’m not able to be the friend you deserve…”

“You love me, don’t you?” Hermione’s question cut her off.

Fleur didn’t respond, staring blankly at her hands in her lap.

“I see…” Hermione supplied, reading the silence as an affirmative. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was there to say?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the truth? Maybe I expected you to have the nerve to speak honestly with me. I know you’re a lot of things, Fleur Delacour, but a coward? I never thought…” Hermione’s Gryffindor pride was showing, and not in a good way.

“And what good would that have done, hm? Would it have changed anything if I had told you?” Fleur defended; her temper rising. “You have been with Ronald this entire time. I do not make a habit of breaking up relationships, especially those who I care about, even if I don’t agree with it. He is not good enough for you, you could do better.”

“Oh, so I suppose you think you are?” 

“Yes, I mean, no… I just think you’re making a rash decision. I’m just saying that you are young and have very limited experience…”

“Oh, that’s rich. Well, not all of us are sexy Veela with men and women throwing themselves at our feet.”

“I’m not like that and you know it!” Fleur screeched, Hermione’s words cut her deep; Veela did not take kindly to being insulted. 

Hermione had the decency to look ashamed for the unfair dig at her heritage. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the now irate French witch.

“You know what? I don’t need to take this. Not from anyone and especially not from you.” Fleur jumped to her feet so fast she knocked her chair back. She didn’t care that she was causing a scene. Oblivious to the eyes watching them she dropped money on the table to pay for her meal and apparated away with a sharp crack.

After that fateful lunch, Hermione moved out and Fleur withdrew from the world. 

Days slowly turned to weeks and time blended together for the distraught blonde. She started taking foreign assignments for the bank, anything to escape London. She even considered leaving for France, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to go crawling home with her tail between her legs. 

When she was in town, she left her house only to go to work or to occasionally go to the market for groceries (wine). She ignored owls and Floo calls from her worried friends and family. Her phone sat uncharged on the kitchen counter. She had even cancelled her subscription to the  _ Prophet _ , as the newspaper apparently had nothing better to print than the details, real or speculated, about the much anticipated wedding.

The only bit of mail she hadn’t incinerated after reading was a cream colored piece of stationary with elegant calligraphy. 

_ You are cordially invited to celebrate the union of Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger, May 15, 2003, The Burrow _

She had wanted to burn it, Morgana knew how badly she wanted to aim a fireball at that wretched piece of parchment, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. So it hung on her refrigerator, front and center, as a reminder. It tore her heart to look at it, but it was better than the unending numbness that filled her.

She hated how much this was affecting her. She was a Delacour, for Merlin’s sake, and Delacours don’t mope around like heartbroken teens. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The dreaded day finally arrived before she knew it. Fleur woke that Thursday and reluctantly dragged herself out of bed. She had to go into work. It was her only distraction from her misery, even if her heart was no longer in it. Like every other day, she went robotically through her morning routine.

She glanced in the mirror and was startled to see how  _ bad _ she looked. She had dark circles under her eyes, her hair was limp, and her skin sallow. She had lost weight, too, her bones protruding unhealthily.

“Enough.” She glared at herself, finally feeling a feeble spark inside. “You will not let this define you. You are stronger than this.”

With a newfound drive, she took a long shower and made herself presentable and took the day head on. Even the goblins took a second look when they saw her walk in with her head held high and a fire in her eyes.

It felt good, better than she expected. She knew she still had a long way to go but she knew she was moving in the right direction again.

She worked late, returning home exhausted but satisfied after a day spent in the depths of Gringotts. She sighed as she kicked off her shoes in the entry hallway, dropping her purse and coat on the floor. She’d deal with it later.

Her eyes snapped up when she suddenly heard clattering sounds coming from somewhere inside her home. She held her wand aloft as she slowly made her way further into her apartment, silently clinging to the walls and shadows. She was on high alert, her heart pounding in her chest. 

The sounds got louder and more frequent as she walked. Now she could tell they were originating from the kitchen and she stealthily made her way toward that room. She paused at the door, pressed against the wall as she steadied herself, gripping her wand tightly as she prepared to fire several spells. With a deep breath she pivoted and shoved the door open, wand already going through the motions of her chosen spells.

“Expelli-HERMIONE?”

Fleur froze, eyes wide as she took in the brunette witch by the stove. Her rosewood wand clattered to the floor and she slumped against the wall to break her fall.

Hermione turned around slowly to greet her would-be attacker, “Hi, Fleur,” she offered softly.

Fleur’s head was spinning and she stood there gaping like a fish out of water as she tried to think of the words to adequately convey her shock.

“Wh-what are you doing here? You… it’s your wedding day.” She glanced at the reminder on her fridge to confirm this statement.

"I couldn't do it, Fleur… Ron and I, we realized that we were just forcing ourselves, trying to meet everyone else’s expectations. Molly is furious, but she’ll get over it."

Unable to hold herself up, Fleur slid down the wall. She felt like she might pass out and had the wherewithal to minimize the falling distance if she did lose consciousness. She sat there, staring up at Hermione, disbelief written all over her face.

“I don’t understand…”

Hermione turned off the stove and crossed the kitchen, settling on her knees in front of the shocked blonde. “I made a mistake, Fleur. I should have never turned my back on you. I’ve been miserable without you these past few months. I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness…”

Fleur cut her off, leaning forward and crashing their lips together. She poured everything she had into the kiss and it felt like Hermione was doing the same. It was overwhelming, a myriad of emotions whirled about inside her, all of the hurt and anger dissipated as her fingers threaded into Hermione’s thick curls. Her Veela was practically singing from the rooftops. She pulled away once her lungs were screaming, begging her to take a breath. She pulled back, pressing their foreheads together, breathing erratically into the space between them.

“I’m sorry, I’ve wanted to do that for years…” She chuckled sheepishly, finally opening her eyes to meet Hermione’s gaze.

“It’s fine… I didn’t mind. It was amazing, actually.” Hermione cupped Fleur’s jaw, holding her gently, “I take it that you forgive me?”

“Well, you’re worth it. I’m not saying I’m over it and it will take me time to heal and I think the same can be said for you… but, I’d like to try. With you.” 

“Maybe starting with dinner? I’m making your favorite.”

“Bouillabaisse? You remembered?” Fleur perked up.

“But of course! How could I possibly forget the worst pick up line in the history of pick up lines?” Hermione joked, getting to her feet and pulling the blonde up with her.

Once standing, Fleur pulled Hermione into a hug, nuzzling her cheek against the shorter woman’s hair. What she had said was true, it would take her time to build up her trust of the young Gryffindor, but tonight? She would allow herself tonight and start dealing with the rest tomorrow. She reveled in the feeling of holding the younger woman, memorizing everything she could about the embrace. They fit so well together. It felt like she was home. The moment was interrupted by a loud and embarrassing rumbling of her stomach.

“Come on you, let’s get you fed.” Hermione laughed and pulled her further into the kitchen. “Can you slice the bread while I’ll just finish up here? It’s almost done.”

Fleur happily obliged, watching Hermione bustling around the kitchen. It felt like no time had passed. Like their fall out never happened. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the brunette’s presence.

She was pouring their wine when Hermione brought over two full bowls and sat down next to her at the island countertop.

Fleur reached out and took her bowl, savoring the rich aroma of the seafood stew. “This smells very good, you have outdone yourself, Hermione.”

“Thank you, I hope it tastes just as good.” the younger witch dipped her spoon in and took a bite and she quickly followed suit, groaning in appreciation. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Hermione set her spoon down and turned to face her. “Hey, Fleur?”

“Oui?”

"You didn't change the wards?" 

"Non."

"Why not?"

Fleur paused, taking a bite as an excuse to gather her thoughts. "Because even after all this time, I always hoped you would come home to me one day."

“It definitely helped to have a lighthouse to guide my way back.”

“So, what now?”

“Well, eating, of course… and then perhaps we could put on a movie? I owe you several months’ worth of missed cuddles that I intend to make up for. And then… well, we’ll just see where things take us.”

Fleur hummed and dipped her bread to sop up the remaining broth in her bowl, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you finally got your head out of your arse. I missed having your lumpy sweaters around.” She was surprised by how easily she fell back into their routine of jokes and playful banter.

“Hey now, cheeky!” Hermione huffed indignantly, swatting her shoulder with her napkin. “You love me and you know it…”

“That I do, mon amour, that I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout out to The_Lochness_Monster for reading through this nonsense and offering awesome feedback! <3 Lochy


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